Free The Twentieth Wife by Indu Sundaresan Page A

seat at the far end of the room and then sank back, signaling the approaching attendants to move away. She sat down heavily, turning her face from her husband, unwilling to see him like this. Salim was not her son, not born of her, but she had known and loved him since he was a child. His actions defied belief, defied all reason. But worse, much much worse was Akbar’s grief. If the colic did not kill him, the sorrow would, and all those years when the whole harem and the Emperor had prayed for a male heir, when they had rejoiced at Salim’s birth, would mean nothing. They had all failed in their duty to make him a good man.
    Even as she thought thus, another thought came to her mind—that perhaps Akbar himself was responsible for Salim’s drinking and his laziness. Ruqayya had many times warned the Emperor that the prince needed responsibility, that he spent too much time in the zenana and not enough among warriors and men of learning. But Akbar would not listen to her, for sending Salim on campaign or out to study with mullas would mean sending his son away. How could Salim repay Akbar’s affection thus?
    An attendant padded silently onto the room on bare feet and bent to the Empress’s ear. She listened, then rose and went to the Emperor’s bedside.
    “Your Majesty, hakim Humam is outside.”
    “Send him in.”
    Ruqayya motioned to the eunuchs by the door to let the hakim enter. As she was pulling a veil over her head the Emperor said with an effort, “Thank you.”
    Tears welled in her eyes and flowed down her plump cheeks. She clasped the pale hand between her two warm ones. “I would do it a hundred times, my lord,” she said simply.
    Humam entered the room and bowed. Akbar lifted a feeble hand and bade him come closer. The hakim went up to the bed and knelt by the Emperor.
    “Your services are no longer necessary to us.”
    Humam lifted his head in surprise. Akbar glared at him.
    “But, your Majesty, I have served you and will always serve you, with my life if necessary,” Humam said, trembling. He had never seen the Emperor in such a mood before. Akbar was known for his calmness and his ease of temper, and now Humam was frightened.
    “Enough!” Akbar roared, with strength born from anger. “Leave our sight, and no longer show your shameful face to us.”
    Two attendants swiftly came and pulled the hakim away from Akbar’s bedside. Humam hung his head, paid obeisance to the Emperor, and backed out of the room.
    Empress Ruqayya watched Humam go, wondering if he knew how lucky he was to have his head still. If it had been her decision, Humam would not have seen another sunset, but the Emperor hadbeen adamant about not punishing the hakim —as though, Ruqayya thought, putting Humam to death would be an admission of Salim’s culpability.
    For the next week, Akbar’s life hung on a thread. Then, slowly, with the help of his physicians and his devoted wives, he recovered. But the Emperor was not the same: he became quieter, more reserved, and soon the court noticed that the relationship between Akbar and the heir apparent had greatly deteriorated.
    •   •   •
    A S THE DYING sun heralded the end of yet another day, Ghias Beg carefully laid down his quill on the inkpot and rested his elbows on the desk, letting the golden rays play over his work. He watched as the approaching gloom chased the light over the barren mountains, until one by one they disappeared from his view. Only then did Ghias turn from the window.
    In front of him lay a royal farman, an edict from the Emperor himself. In it Akbar congratulated him on his services to the empire as diwan of Kabul for four years, and finally summoned him back to the imperial court at Lahore.
    Four years, Ghias thought with a flush of happiness. Four long years of hard work. His father would have been proud of him. Ghias had initially resisted being sent here, although only inwardly, for no one would have dared disobey or even question the